


well my love, I know you don't see what I see

by Waistcoat35



Series: they slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered [6]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Self-Esteem Issues, Thomas can have a lot of swears, Thomas is going to go to London and beat the shit out of the royal staff, and he's taking Daisy with him, as a treat, reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24617482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waistcoat35/pseuds/Waistcoat35
Summary: “Have a good day at work.”Richard has a bit of a meltdown. Thomas tries to fix it.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Series: they slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772770
Comments: 21
Kudos: 95





	well my love, I know you don't see what I see

"Sorry," Richard laughs awkwardly, "I'll get going, I don't want to keep you too long." 

"I only wish you could keep me for much longer." The voice, though crackly on the line, is unmistakably Thomas', and Richard feels something warm swelling in his chest at the words. 

"So do I." He hears a muffled yawn on the other end, and chuckles. "Not feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Mr Barrow?" A snort.

"At a quarter past five in the bloody morning, no, not quite." True to Thomas' word, his voice is slower and softer with sleep, the main reason they don't do this usually. There are evening calls, a couple each week more often than not, and always a Sunday call, since they're both off-duty an hour earlier then. But morning calls, before work, are a rare thing because of how ridiculously early they'd have to get up, on top of an already early waking up schedule. He's surprised at how determined Thomas was to manage one - and wonders how much it had to do with the fact that Richard's felt and sounded run-down the last few days, even in his letters, and hasn't left work early enough to call. 

"Have a good day at work," Thomas says down the line, and somehow that's the breaking point, the sledgehammer hitting a vase that was already cracked, a crack that runs through Richard's voice when he manages to answer.

"I'll try. You too." It wavers, and he knows they both hear it. 

He's felt the exhaustion bone-deep, and barely any of it is physical. The late nights, the early mornings, the endless events he has to stay at work for. And it's not even just that. 

"Richard?" He sounds worried, and Richard hates worrying Thomas, which he is aware is ironic given how often he insists on knowing Thomas' troubles and brushing off concerns about worrying him.

"Yep. Alright. Still here." 

"See, you say so, but the thing is, I'm not entirely sure you are. Alright, that is. If you weren't here I'd be rather embarrassed by the sweet nothings I've been whispering down the phone for the last half an hour." He has to huff in amusement at that. Thomas - dear, _dear_ Thomas, as blunt and endearing as ever. 

"Are you?" Richard blinks rapidly.

"Am I what?" 

Thomas sounds unimpressed at the deflection. "Are you _alright_ , Richard."

He rests his forehead against the wall by the telephone. "I'll be fine."

"Though that may be so," Thomas remarks dryly, "I don't believe I asked if you _would_ be. I asked if you _are."_

"Is there a difference?"

"Too late. You've forfeited the quiz, so your answer is a default no." 

He hate-loves how Thomas can make him laugh even when he's nearly crying, and it forces a weepy chuckle out of him. _"Thomas..."_

Thomas has turned serious now,. "Come on, then. A problem shared, and all that, remember?"

"Don't want to worry you."

"If I have to go eighteen hours wondering if something's wrong and what it might be, I can assure you I'll be far more worried than if you just tell me." 

That decides things - when confronted with only two options, both of which involve worrying Thomas, he will always choose the lesser. Richard sighs. "I'm just so _tired_ of it, Thomas. I'm tired and I don't know what else to do. I try, and I go in every day, and I'm never late, I make the others tea when it's my turn, I try to make conversation, I keep the mask on, I take the mask off, I talk, I joke, I make myself useful, and still, after twenty years working there, nobody even _bloody_ likes me. I'm missing something, and I don't think I'm ever going to figure out what it is. Nobody talks, nobody smiles, nobody - makes room at the table when your chair's nearly falling off the end. I hate it - even more than they seem to hate me. And I'm _lonely_ , Thomas. It's lonely and I miss you and I hate it there, sometimes I don't even remember being there and _not_ hating it, but I can't even leave, because anything else is a step down, I'm never getting a better position than what I've got, so all I can do is cling to it until they get tired of me so my family has something nice to say about me when they have friends over for dinner who'll ask about their children." He finally takes a breath, heavy and rattling through the clogging in his throat, not sure if what he's just said is even intelligible. "I've tried to be all these things, and still there's something that I'm not, that they want from me but I don't know how to give them." 

There is a pause down the line, an only slightly shaky breath being taken, and then Thomas is back, sounding angry in that way where he tries not to be, where he's trying to stuff down the anger so he can be there for Richard. "There was a lot to talk about there, but I wouldn't worry about that last bit - it sounds like they've already taken more from you than you ever should've had to give." Richard gives another watery laugh, not sure if he wants to believe him or not. "It's _true_ , Richard. And what's more, I know what it is that you're missing. What you're so lacking in that makes you so different, so set apart from them." He must make an enquiring noise, because Thomas goes on. "You're missing a sense of entitlement to the world, a great gilded artisanally-crafted stick up your arse, and the ability to be an absolute prick. That's what you haven't got, that makes them resent you. What you have got is the ability to be a _decent fucking person_ , something that they wouldn't know about if it stormed up to them and insulted their mums." Thomas is properly angry now, and he sounds like he's gearing up for a good rant, but then.

"And - and I'm going a bit off on one, sorry. But my point is - Richard, your position was never what made you special. You are what makes you special. You could hand in your notice today, and I couldn't care less about your supposed drop in status."

He laughs despite himself, no longer bordering on hysteria. "What, you'd be alright with Richard Ellis from York, rather than Mr Ellis, King's Royal Dresser?" 

Thomas is quiet now, soft, when he speaks. "He's all I've ever wanted." 

Wobbling slightly, Richard keeps pushing on. "I'm not always sure how to be him, anymore." 

Thomas sounds incredulous. "You've been him all along. The phone call. When you got me out. In the pantry on that last day. Every time we've seen each other or written or talked since, Richard Ellis from York has been right there." Then, in a voice that sounds like a wrinkled nose and a scrunched expression even over the phone - "could do without the 'from York' bit, though." The cackle bursts out of Richard without his meaning it to. 

"You're horrible to me, you are. A horrible menace." He imagines Thomas is nodding wisely.

"Ah, yes. The horrible menace who gets up at a quarter past four to phone you, that's the one. A villain, I'm sure." 

"You are, you are."

Thomas chuckles, and then softens once again. "Really, though. I knew it'd been wearing on you a bit, but - I didn't know you _hated_ the job. And twenty years, you've been there." 

"Sometimes - sometimes it was good."

" _Was._ If they're all like the lot who arrived with you, I can't blame you for hating it. I might've had a bad time here, but some of these lot were at least civil, even then." 

"Mr Miller's alright. And some of the footman."

"Richard, it's not good for you - this kind of stress-" 

He sighs. "I know. I know, I'll- I'm going to think of something, eventually. But letting go of something you've known for so long is hard even if you've resented it for as long as you've known it."

"I know how that feels." And that's it, isn't it - Thomas understands. He understands where nobody else could, sometimes, and Richard pities anyone who stuck around for a short enough time that they could ever have assumed this man was cold. Here he is, crumbling over the phone line because of a few near-sleepless nights and some awkward, silent breakfasts and Thomas is being so kind, making him feel better, just understanding what it's like. 

"For the record, your family have enough nice things to say about you without the job, because you're bloody extraordinary, is what you are. Let me count the ways, and all that." 

He raises his brows. "Really?"

Thomas sighs, mock-exasperated. "Richard, of all the things about you that your mum went on about when I visited with you that first time, your job was only one of them. Same goes for all the rest of them - you're more to them than a valet, and you always will be." He can feel the tentative but irresistible curve of a smile beginning. 

"Is that so."

"You bloody well _know_ it is," Thomas scolds. Someone calls for him in the background. "In a minute - this call's important. No, it's urgent, I can't just call back later - never you mind what I'm smiling at, Daisy, haven't you got porridge to pour or something?" 

When Daisy is, apparently, gone and Richard's stopped snorkeling, he clears his throat before speaking again. "Sorry, it sounds like you really had better go now. I should be off myself soon." 

Before Thomas can answer, a door bangs open again. " _Daisy_ , I said this was - what? Swap? What d'you want to swap for? But that's not until - wait, you mean for me? How did you know who I'm talking to, anyway? Cheek! Are you sure? Really? And Mrs P doesn't need you then? Well, I suppose we'll find out. I'll ask His Lordship to make sure, but I think they'll allow it. If you really don't mind. Thank you. Really, thank you. And -yes, I _know_ , most important meal of the day, just leave me be for a few more minutes." The door closes again, finally, and Thomas is back.

"I don't suppose you'd like some company on Saturday?"

"Why, sending Daisy to check I haven't run away to sea?" 

"Come off it. You can't even swim, I doubt you're desperate enough to hop on a boat. And actually, I was wondering if you could meet a certain gentleman from the station on your lunch break, seeing as he's suddenly acquired a day off after swapping with the assistant cook. And, perhaps, let him into your flat so he has somewhere to wait out of the rain until you're back from work. It's meant to pour it down at the weekend." Richard feels the smile tugging properly now. 

"I think that I could arrange that." 

"Good. Now, if you're feeling a good bit better, I think Daisy's going to feed my porridge to that cat of hers if I don't get to the table."

"Much. Thank you."

"It's not a problem-"

"Thomas. Thank you."

A sigh. "You're welcome. And as hard as they may make it - have a good day at work." 

"It'll be less hard to, thanks to you." 

They say their goodbyes, and true enough, he meets Thomas from the station at noon on Saturday. It pours it down, and he holds the umbrella, because rain makes Thomas' hand ache and he needs the other one for his suitcase. Additionally, Richard is taller, for umbrella-bearing purposes, but it isn't mentioned due to his not valuing a kick in the shin.

After a quick lunch, he leaves Thomas at his flat to snoop through his many bookshelves while he returns to work. When he gets back, Thomas has a cup of tea waiting, with a tin containing some of Mrs Patmore's ginger cake that he'd somehow concealed while unpacking. 

("You don't like ginger cake." 

"Nope. That's because it's all yours." 

"Doesn't seem fair on you, after you've been so good to me."

"Don't feel bad. There might've been a brownie square in there too."

"Might there have been?"

"Might've been eaten on the train."

" _Thomas!"_

And so on.) 

They sit on Richard's sofa, a floral hand-me-down from his landlady he wants to get around to replacing, and for once they are reversed, with Richard placing his head in Thomas' lap as he curls on his side and talks. They talk about what he'd do if he left service, where he'd go, his worries about what his family might think.

And whatever they decide, he knows things are going to be okay.


End file.
